


Letting Go

by Robin4



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Spoilers, post-ep for Lily, the dark one - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 00:40:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3830734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robin4/pseuds/Robin4
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumplestiltskin gives Belle her heart back and returns to finish what he has started: restoring a balance so that the villains can get their happy endings just like anyone else.  Only he’s not looking for his own.  It’s too late for him.  Rumbelle, Post ep for “Lily”.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letting Go

**Author's Note:**

> This story is full of spoilers for "Lily" and loads of speculation on what Rumplestiltskin is really up to in 4B. Don't continue if you don't want to be spoiled.

There.  He’d done it.

 _If you love someone, let them go_.  Ever since losing Milah to her own misery and hatred of him—regardless of his own later and regrettable actions—and losing Cora to her own lust for power, Rumplestiltskin had lived his life by that motto.  Oh, he could _force_ someone he loved to stay with him; he had the power to do so, and he knew that.  But that wasn’t love.  Love was wanting the other person to be happy, even if you were miserable.

He had told Belle the truth.  He’d proven himself unworthy of her love.  The reasons for his lies, his own traumas and his own fears, really didn’t matter.  Rumplestiltskin had lied to her and _he_ was at fault.  Belle had controlled him, yes.  She had terrified him and broken something inside him, but that wasn’t her fault.  If he’d never given her a fake dagger, she never would have done that in the first place.  Their marriage had been broken right at the beginning, and Rumplestiltskin would always know who was to blame for that.  So, he had let her go.  Because he loved her.

“Did you do what you needed to?” the Author asked when Rumplestiltskin returned to the cabin.

“Yes,” he answered quietly, remembering the look on Belle’s face when Will had walked in the shop.  She’d smiled at him, and although it wasn’t the radiant smile Rumplestiltskin had once been able to earn from her, it had been an _honest_ smile.  He imagined now that her heart was back in her chest, she would be able to love Will properly, and Will would love her like she deserved to be loved.  “Yes, I did.”

“So, are we going to get on with the rest of this?” Isaac pressed when Rumplestiltskin said no more.

He could feel the heaviness in his chest.  The blackness was creeping in on that small flicker of light; his curse was trying to swallow up what little soul Rumplestiltskin had always reserved for himself.  _Magic always comes at a price,_ Zoso had told him, so many years ago. _And now it’s yours to pay._ Centuries had passed before Rumplestiltskin realized what his predecessor meant when he referred to _laying down your soul_ , and by then, it had been far too late.  The curse of the Dark One had been almost uncontrollable in the beginning; the power had been as intoxicating and beautiful as it was terrifying, and Rumplestiltskin had been a monster.  But slowly, after killing Milah, he’d learned to control himself.  And for centuries after that, Rumplestiltskin had thought he’d _won_.  He was the Dark One, yes, and the evil inside him would always be present, but he was certain that he’d beaten it.  That he could control it, instead of the other way around.

Until he realized, one day, that there was a slight heaviness to his heart that oughtn’t be there.  His own dark deeds he would readily acknowledge, but that day he realized that there was something _more_.  Mere months before Belle came to the Dark Castle, Rumplestiltskin realized what he was really fighting: he was fighting a losing battle for ownership of his own soul.  His heart was blackening far more quickly than it should—he’d been so _careful_ after the early days, had done deals and managed the darkness and had been determined to be _Rumplestiltskin_ before he was the Dark One—and his soul was fading with it.

Still, he might have lasted another few centuries if not for his death, for when he’d actually beaten his own curse into submission and done the right thing.  He’d sacrificed himself, saved an entire town worth of people.  He’d even been content to go to the darkness of the Vault, because then his family would be safe and the terrible curse eating at him would be trapped, too.  Until his son brought him back, and Rumplestiltskin found himself being controlled, really controlled, for the first time.  And while Zelena owned him, while she carried that dagger whose marks were so deep into his soul, there was no fighting back the darkness.  Particularly with what she did to him.

Yet he had made his own choices afterwards, and Rumplestiltskin knew that.  Corrupt his soul though his curse might do, _he_ had chosen to lie to Belle.  He had made wrong choices even when he’d wanted to make the right ones, because he’d been a coward.  He’d been too afraid to lose the only person he had left, and he’d let his fears— _again!_ —drive him.

No more.  Today, he had let Belle go like he should have when he’d finally been free of Zelena.  She deserved better than a broken man who was losing the ability to properly love her, anyway. 

“Hey,” Isaac snapped when he remained silent.  “You’ve got this grand plan.  You said the Savior is off becoming dark all on her own, so are we going to get on with the rest of this?”

“All in good time,” Rumplestiltskin mumbled, even though he knew he was running out of that precious commodity.

That didn’t matter, though.  What mattered was _Belle_.

What was she doing now?  Was she with Will? He hoped she was happy, that she was safe.  He hadn’t been able to look back when he left the shop— _his_ shop—because if he had, he might have seen Belle smiling unrestrainedly at the thief and that would have broken him.  He was doing this for her…and for himself.  Because he didn’t want to lose the ability to love her, even if seeing them together made him want to.

“I think you’re running out of that if you want me to fix that darkness eating at you,” the other replied.  For a moment, Rumplestiltskin felt like asking how Isaac knew, but of course he did.  He was the Author.  He might have even been the one to insert that lovely little caveat, to keep the darkest of all villains on the evil side.  After all, the only thing worse than the curse of the Dark One corrupting its human host would be a Dark One with no humanity left at all, wouldn’t it?  No one would be safe from that kind of evil, and then some poor hero would kill him and start the entire process all over again.

“I know how much time I have,” he snorted.  _Not much_.  But he could give her this, at least, in the time he had left.

“Yeah, and you’re wasting it trying to make amends to your wife now,” was the blunt answer.  “Besides, don’t you want me to write you a happy ending where you didn’t mess everything up with her, where she stays with you regardless of the evil deeds you do?”

Rumplestiltskin twisted to look at Isaac.  “For a man who claims to have written my story, you don’t know me very well at all, do you?”

“You’re the Dark One.  What’s there to know?”

“Indeed I am,” he said softly, wishing, somehow, that a kiss would have worked here in Storybrooke.  But he hadn’t been lying every time he told people that magic was different here.  More than once, he’d hoped that True Love’s Kiss might free him from the terrible darkness he had taken on, but it didn’t.  Maybe the rot was in too deep.  Maybe he was too much of a coward.  Maybe his curse wouldn’t let it.  Either way, he’d gone and made sure Belle could never forgive him—because he knew that was true, despite what she’d said at the well.  And he couldn’t blame her.

“So, you want me to write things so that she doesn’t leave?  I’ll have to find a way to darken her to do that—”

“No, I don’t want you to do that,” Rumplestiltskin snapped.  Even the dark parts of his heart, even the parts that belonged to his curse, ached at that thought.  Isaac, however, stared at him with wide eyes.

“Then what _do_ you want?” the Author finally asked.

“I want you to stop the darkness, yes.  I know you can’t free me, and I know that I’ll be the Dark One until I die.  Fine.  I understand that,” he replied very slowly.  “And obviously, a curse like mine will no longer permit me to find happiness.  I can accept that, though I refuse to lose my soul to this.”

“You want your soul.  That’s _it_?” Isaac gaped incredulously.

Well, he’d wanted to get others their happy endings, too, to be honest, by tipping the scales away from the heroes and evening things out.  That was what the entire idea of darkening Emma was; creating her as the Savior had upset the balance, had guaranteed that the heroes would win.  Most of that was his doing, though he’d never expected Snow and Charming to try to remove her darkness like they had.  _That_ kind of meddling with free will was insanely foolish, and they were now paying the price for that, too.  Had they not done so, had Emma chosen to be the Savior of her own free will and chosen the light because of it, there would have been no need to restore the balance between heroes and villains.  She would not be such a potent force that her mere _existence_ could tip the scales.

“Would you believe me if I said that I want to right a wrong before I lose my soul?” he asked quietly, looking away.  “Or perhaps more than one.”

“Probably not.”

“No, I didn’t think you would,” Rumplestiltskin said heavily.  But he’d created the Savior.  He’d given her the power to tip the scales, though he’d done so without knowing what the Charmings had done to rig the game while he’d been imprisoned back in the Enchanted Forest.  And now that choice, _his_ choice, was what kept any villain (current or former) from getting a happy ending, no matter how hard they fought.  Even Regina.  The Author was just the means by which that travesty was executed.  The balance needed to be restored, and for that to happen, _Emma Swan_ needed to be restored.  She needed to be light and dark both, and _she_ needed to choose.

Yes, he needed to darken her heart, because it never should have been so pure in the first place.  Not without Emma choosing that purity.  Now she would have to; now she would have to fight the darkness.  Just like everyone else.  _Everyone but me,_ he thought sadly, knowing that he’d lost that battle the day he decided to kill Zoso.  Oh, he’d made a deal he didn’t understand that day, but Rumplestiltskin had still made his choices.  Just like Emma would.  He merely hoped she would make better ones than he had.

“Then will you just tell me what you want me to do?  If all you want is for me to stop the darkness from consuming your heart, I can write that in.  No guarantees on how long it’ll stick, though.  Your curse is persistent.”

 “I’ll take my chances,” he replied, unsurprised.  Yes, he wanted to retain his soul, his ability to love, even if it hurt more than anything and the idea of being free of that pain was incredibly appealing.  But no.  That was not what he’d freed the Author to do, so Rumplestiltskin looked the other man right in the eye.   “But what I won’t take chances on is Belle.  You’re going to write _her_ a happy ending.”

“With you,” Issac replied, rolling his eyes.  “ _Now_ we’re getting to the meat of this conversation.”

“No, dearie,” Rumplestiltskin snapped.  “You’re going to pick up that pen of yours and write that Belle gets her happy ending with whomever _she_ chooses.  No one, if she wants that.  Or with that scrappy thief.  She decides her fate, and you’re going to write in a guarantee of that.”

Blinking, the Author stared at Rumplestiltskin, but the Dark One didn’t care about how shocked Issac was to hear him say those words.  He’d taken so much from Belle—her trust, her love, and her confidence.  At the very least, he could give this back.

 _No one decides my fate but me,_ Belle had said the first day he met her.  Rumplestiltskin would make sure no one ever did.


End file.
